


"When you smile, I fall apart."

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Party, Don't Post To Another Site, Light Angst, M/M, Mystrade Monday, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Fluff, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28211394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: A timely invitation, holiday punch, and a well played tune all conspire to finally get Greg and Mycroft to admit their feelings for each other. Happy Christmas!
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862299
Comments: 36
Kudos: 137
Collections: Mystrade Holiday 2020





	"When you smile, I fall apart."

Greg watched Mycroft walk back to his waiting sedan and drive away. He sighed heavily. Fucked up again, he thought. Turning back to the crime scene he directed his team to start canvassing the area for witnesses.

“Anything?” He asked Sherlock glumly.

Sherlock rose from where he’d been squatting by the body. “There are seven possible explanations. But once you track down the bookie, that should help eliminate some of them.”

“The bookie?”

Sherlock handed over a slip of paper. “This was in the breast pocket.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Anderson!” He shouted.

Sherlock smirked briefly and watched Greg fume at the forensic officer. As Anderson was dismissed back to work, Sherlock commented, “Not that I mind you taking Anderson to task for his lackadaisical methods, but you seem exceptionally irritated this evening.”

“Yeah, well, your brother randomly showing up threw me off a bit.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and studied Greg curiously. “Yes, I can see that. But why?”

Greg felt uncomfortable. “Damned if I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Look come down to the Yard tomorrow with your full statement. I’ll let you know if we locate the bookie.”

“If I don’t find them first.”

“Oh right, yeah, if you don’t find them first,” Greg huffed exasperated. Shaking his head he waved Sherlock away, “Go on then, off you pop.” He was thoroughly done dealing with Holmeses.

Sherlock started to walk away, and Greg patted his pockets hoping in vain to find a cigarette. He bitterly regretted quitting smoking in that moment.

Suddenly Sherlock was back at his side. “I nearly forgot, John told me to give you this.” Sherlock handed over a card with a place, date and time on it.

“What’s this?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh surely even you could deduce meaning, Lestrade, if you’d just look at it. It’s an invitation to the annual Christmas party at Baker St. You do realize it’s that time of year again?”

“Oh yeah, right.” Greg turned the card over in his hand, noting the date and time. “This is for tomorrow.”

“Oh very good inspector,” Sherlock mocked. He turned to go.

“Wait,” Greg reached out and caught Sherlock’s arm, holding up the consulting detective’s departure. “Is… uh, your brother going to be there?”

“Mycroft? Not really his thing.”

Greg relaxed and smiled. “Right, yeah, of course.” He tucked the card in his coat pocket. “Ta, I’ll be there.”

Sherlock shrugged and left Greg to deal with the aftermath of the crime scene.

* * *

Greg stood in the kitchen at 221b feeling comfortably buzzed. He was on his third cup of Mrs. Hudson’s lethal holiday punch. John was good naturally ribbing Sherlock about his sock index. Molly and he had pulled a few Christmas crackers. Mike Stamford and Greg had a friendly debate over football. It was a good party all in all, Greg thought and reached for another biscuit.

“Hey Greg!” John called out. “Would you get Mycroft a cup of punch?”

Greg turned around to see Mycroft had entered the flat. He stood looking nervous, but devastatingly handsome dressed in his three piece suit. John was gently persuading Mycroft to take off his coat and set aside the umbrella.

“Sure,” he replied. He filled a cup and, steeling himself, approached Mycroft. Greg smiled tentatively at the man. “Here you go.” He handed over the cup. “Take it easy, though. It packs a wallop.”

Mycroft blinked at Greg momentarily before taking the cup. “Thank you, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I’ll keep it in mind,” he replied dryly.

Greg winced. “Greg,” he said. “It’s a party. Call me, Greg.” He tried smiling again.

Mycroft looked away. “Yes, of course, Gregory,” he murmured and took a sip of punch.

“Eh, close enough.”

“Mycroft, you came?” Sherlock joined them.

“You did extend an invitation to me, did you not?”

“Yes, but you hate parties. I had no expectation you would actually attend.”

“Shall I leave then?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied with a shrug.

“No,” Greg blurted, then glared at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked back and forth between the two men, and a slow smirk crossed his face. With a chuckle, he drifted away, finding his violin and beginning to play a tune.

Mycroft was glaring daggers at his brother, and Greg reached over, touching Mycroft’s sleeve. He smiled at a Mycroft. “He’s a prat, ignore him.”

Mycroft bit his lower lip and smiled hesitantly back at Greg. “Yes, he is.”

Greg’s heart fluttered at the sight of Mycroft’s smile. “I seriously considered getting him coal and switches.”

Mycroft chuckled. “I hope you didn’t, because that’s what I got him this year, and returns are very difficult.”

Greg grinned broadly at Mycroft’s joke. The room seemed to fall away. The tune Sherlock was playing sharpened and crystalized in his mind. Greg’s looked over at Sherlock, standing by the window gazing at Mycroft and Greg. “Is he playing… Is he playing ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’?” Greg turned back to Mycroft.

Mycroft looked horrified, and then his pale face shuttered closed. “I just remembered… urgent business… excuse me.” He shoved his punch cup into Greg’s hands and practically ran out of the flat.

“Oh bloody hell,” Greg dumped the cups on a nearby table and dashed after Mycroft.

He found the man standing on the street, shivering and mumbling into his mobile. “Mycroft!” Greg called.

Mycroft pocketed his phone. “What do you want Detective Inspector?” Mycroft asked miserably.

“Greg.”

“Gregory.” Mycroft closed his eyes.

“Was he playing that song for us?”

Mycroft made an inarticulate sound.

“You don’t even like me.” It hurt to say it out loud. Greg struggled to continue without breaking down. “You hardly talk to me, and when you do, you’re so short with me, like I’m not worth your time.”

Mycroft’s eyes snapped open wide. He searched Greg’s face. “Not worth my time. How can you not know?”

“Know? Know what?” Greg was so confused.

“When you smile, I fall apart. I can’t speak, I can’t think, I can’t do anything, but hope you’ll smile at me again. I become a babbling fool around you. I find myself fleeing your company, lest you think I’m an idiot.”

Greg gawped. “But you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met. You’re gorgeous and smarter than anyone I know, and that includes your brother.”

“I should hope so.”

Greg laughed. “And funny. How can I not smile when I’m around you?”

A black sedan pulled up to the curb next to the two men. Mycroft glanced at the car. He bit his lip and visibly swallowed. “Would you like to go somewhere warmer and continue this conversation? Perhaps my home?”

Greg beamed at Mycroft, who wobbled slightly at the sight. Greg caught his hand, steadying Mycroft. “That sounds brilliant.”


End file.
